Happy smoochy day everyone.
Because it is the day of love and romance, with prosecco in the fridge, pork belly marinating, candles ready to be lit, Husband is in bed with a monstrous snot demon of a cold, trying to recuperate in time for a pre-birthday day out with Whirling Dervish and I am period monster (official title).
So here I am, on me tod, with the remaining half of last night’s red wine, sickly but irresistible chocs and an NCIS marathon.
Love is… in sickness and in health, in snot and in hormones and knowing Husband is consistently smoochtastic all year round.
Yuk. Valentine’s soppyitis has got me too.
Edit: In sympathy of my evening, Wise Best Friend just sent me a link to the funny-because-it’s-true Renegade Mothering.